Chapter 109 Day 31 of Transmigrating into a Wuxia Novel (Extra)

Chapter 109: The Thirty-First Day of Entering the Martial Arts World (Extra)

Winter.

The winter night in the Western Regions, the north wind whipping heavy snow, painting the rolling mountains where the Fuyi Sect’s main altar is located into a vast, snowy white expanse.

Though the main altar has floor heating and charcoal braziers, it still cannot fully resist the biting chill seeping through the cracks in doors and windows.

Inside the Chenxin Hall, however, it is warm and cozy, a world apart from the icy wilderness outside.

An Yi has shed the cold sharpness he wears during the day while handling sect affairs. He is clad only in soft white undergarments, with a silver-gray fox fur cloak over his shoulders, reclining on a soft couch by the window. In his hand, he holds an ancient scroll, quietly reading by the light of a glazed lamp.

His ink-black hair is unbound, flowing like water over his shoulders and neck, accentuating the delicate and cool lines of his profile.

The hall door is gently pushed open, bringing in a gust of biting wind and a few snowflakes.

Ling Fengyao walks in, carrying a chill. The indigo hem of his robe is dusted with unmelted snow, and crystalline snowflakes cling to his hair and eyebrows.

He closes the door behind him, shutting out the wind and snow, his face wearing his usual brilliant, sun-like smile—warm but not blinding.

“What a heavy snow! Almost buried me alive out there.”

He pats the snow off his clothes while grinning, approaching the soft couch. When his gaze falls on An Yi, it instantly softens: “It’s so warm here, A Yi, like a little furnace.”

An Yi looks up from his scroll, glancing at him lightly: “All matters handled?”

“Just a few small-time crooks trying to mooch off us—already sent packing.”

Ling Fengyao waves dismissively, then produces a vermillion wine gourd from his bosom like a magician, shaking it in front of An Yi with a wink and a coaxing tone:

“Just got this ‘Blazing Fire’ from outside—they say it packs a punch! Perfect for warming up in this freezing weather. A Yi, care to join me for a drink?”

An Yi’s gaze falls on the wine gourd. Where did he find this wine?

Ling Fengyao takes out two white jade cups and expertly pulls out the stopper.

Instantly, a rich, fiery aroma—thick, with a burnt, caramelized fragrance and a strange warmth—fills the air, overwhelming the hall’s usual cool sandalwood aroma.

He fills a cup. The wine is a rare amber-red, rippling in the white jade cup like liquid fire.

He first offers a cup to An Yi, then takes one for himself, but doesn’t drink right away. Instead, he just smiles at An Yi, his eyes incredibly bright: “Try it? I got it just for you.”

An Yi looks at his nose reddened by the cold, sets down his scroll, and takes the cup. When their fingers touch, he feels the chill of the outdoors still on Ling Fengyao’s hands.

Ling Fengyao raises his own cup, gently clinking it against An Yi’s with a crisp sound: “Come, let’s celebrate our sect leader, A Yi, for easily handling another trouble!”

With that, he tilts his head and downs the fiery liquor in one gulp, exhaling a cloud of warm, boozy breath: “Good wine! Strong enough!”

An Yi lowers his eyes to the “flame” in his cup, raises it, and takes a slow sip.

The liquor is scorching, a stream of fire rolling down his throat into his stomach, instantly surging with powerful warmth, driving the last chill from his bones. Even his pale cheeks take on a faint flush.

“How is it?” Ling Fengyao leans in, nearly cheek-to-cheek with An Yi, his warm, wine-scented breath brushing over him.

“Not bad.” An Yi’s tone is flat, but his slightly relaxed brows betray a hint of comfort.

Ling Fengyao chuckles softly, refills both cups, and sets out a small plate of snacks.

Instead of returning to his seat, he squeezes onto the edge of the soft couch, his body almost touching An Yi’s, chatting idly about sect anecdotes and the latest absurd rumors from the martial world, occasionally raising his cup for a toast with An Yi.

After a few cups of the strong wine, the atmosphere in the hall grows warmer and more charged.

The soft glow of the glazed lamp envelops them both; outside the window, the wind and snow howl, making this small space inside feel even more serene and cozy.

Ling Fengyao’s chatter gradually fades, but his gaze grows more intense on An Yi's face—from his long lashes to his straight nose, finally settling on his lips, made more lustrous by the wine.

His Adam's apple bobs, and his voice grows husky: “A Yi...”

“Hmm?” An Yi turns to look at him, his gaze, languid from the wine, exuding an unconscious allure.

Suddenly, Ling Fengyao reaches out, his fingertips gently brushing a stray lock of An Yi's hair, tucking it behind his ear, his fingers barely grazing the slightly warm earlobe.

His movements are light, causing a shiver.

“Nothing.” He smiles, his peach-blossom eyes shimmering with affection and satisfaction that's about to spill over: “I just think... it’s really good like this.”

To be able to stay by your side, watch you drink, hear you hum in response, and have you within arm's reach.

An Yi looks at him quietly, neither avoiding his touch nor speaking. The only sound in the hall is the occasional crackle of the charcoal fire and their interwoven breaths, growing increasingly audible.

Ling Fengyao slowly lowers his head, leaning in tentatively.

His kiss carries the bold aroma of 'Blazing Fire,' yet it is exceptionally gentle, like a snowflake alighting on warm skin, dissolving with a delicate tingle.

An Yi's eyelids lower, his long lashes fluttering. He tilts his head up slightly, melting into the kiss, tasting of wine and winter chill.

The kiss deepens, from tentative tenderness to lingering passion.

Ling Fengyao’s arm wraps around An Yi’s waist, pulling him deeper into his embrace. The fox fur cloak slips a little, revealing the thin undergarment beneath.

Through the fabric, his palm can feel the slender waist that hides terrifying strength.

An Yi's hand also slides up to Ling Fengyao's shoulder and back, his fingers curling, clutching the damp indigo fabric.

The wine, the warmth, and an indescribable humidity mingle in the air.

As the kiss ends, they draw apart slightly, both breathing heavily.

Ling Fengyao rests his forehead against An Yi’s, their noses touching, his peach-blossom eyes brimming with raw desire and adoration. His voice is hoarse, and a series of soft laughs rumbles from his chest.

An Yi's breath is also ragged, the flush on his cheeks deepening. His normally cold, calm eyes now look like melted snow, shimmering with a hazy glow.

He looks at the handsome face so close, full of longing, and suddenly gives a very faint smile. He willingly tilts his head up and kisses Ling Fengyao again—with clear response and demand.

Outside the window, the wind and snow rage, the cold piercing.

Inside, the warmth of spring grows, the room filled with tender intimacy.

“The wine... it spilled...” An Yi murmurs vaguely between kisses.

Someone must have knocked over a cup; the amber-red wine stains a small patch of the carpet, and the heady fragrance of wine spreads even more freely.

“Forget it...” Ling Fengyao pants, chasing his lips, his voice muffled and urgent: “Tomorrow... I’ll find you better...”

The rustle of clothes, interwoven breaths.